(Lelouch/Rolo, requested by littlelinor, no prompt, 335 words, R)
He felt the ominous presence, trying to blend into the milling crowd but failing to cover his intent. It was like a sharp, grating feeling in the cocoon of afternoon heat, resting uncomfortably on his jacket-clad shoulders.
Lelouch frowned. This started to happen way too often lately. Sighing quietly, he made a turn into a narrow alley, keeping his pace in its steady, unhurried balance. The deserted path wound slightly, sloping quietly beneath his feet, until it led him to an abandoned construction site – and thus, privacy.
A few more steps into the forest of tall, rusted beams and half-built walls, shadowed by a pair of muted ones, and he heard the cocking sound. Lelouch turned around, out of curiosity perhaps, of his would-be-killer’s face. He caught a glimpse of grey baseball cap and eyes widened in surprise.
The pistol, its deadly tip aimed at his chest, never fired its rounds.
He felt his lips curling when the man fell heavily to the sun-scorched tarmac, blood dripping from a fresh stab wound. Rolo didn’t smile back, his knife already tucked out of sight, and he could imagine it still soaked with blood somewhere between the creases and crevices of his clothes. There was that quiet reverence in his eyes, like every time he knelt on the bed, between his brother’s legs, and worshipped him in a way that Lelouch wouldn’t allow anyone else but his most hated enemy or his most trusted lover, all to hear those muttered nonsense about brotherly love and the likes from his mouth. A boy starved for affection, for the barest of human touch, and it would have been endearing if it hadn’t overwhelmed him so much in disgust.
Rolo still said nothing and Lelouch walked past him, returning to the main street still with the same easy pace. He didn’t need to hear – or feel. The shadow would be there, on his heels, leaving a trail of blood and corpses behind as he marched through time, battles, and massacres.
(Charles/Lelouch, requested by vspirit, prompt: father’s day, 769 words, PG)
C.C. doesn’t like this. From the silence, and then the prickle on the back of her neck. The feeling that something has poisoned the air and everything else is slowly choking. Dying.
Except her. Death eludes her, as it always has. As it always will.
He is sitting in his high-backed chair – throne, as sometimes she likes to call when she is feeling particularly ornery – head bent so low that almost half of his face disappears into the high collar of his cape. A beautiful man of twenty, although he may as well have seen fifty summers if someone bothers to look beneath the mask and into his eyes. That someone usually finds him or herself committing suicide in less than five seconds after the revelation, but C.C. doesn’t think that petty detail bears any relevance to the matter.
The silence continues, only interrupted by those small beeping coming from his blinking panel and the occasional sounds of typing. The battle is still raging outside, but it has never been his place out there, in the midst of blood and smoke. It is what pawns are for. His role is to scheme and watch how each and every one of them unfold, the almighty god behind the giant chessboard that is the world.
C.C. has forgotten since when it has been silence and only silence between them. The importance of time has been stripped away from her, but it feels like a lifetime ago since she ever remarked about something and he rolled his eyes in response, exasperation brightening dark irises. Now words rise and fall, and what is left in the end is a procession of vocabularies and inflection long since losing both their edge and meaning.
They talk, but they don’t communicate. Not like they used to a long time ago, and there lies the humor of the entire situation. This is the first time she ever loses someone before they inevitably die or she inevitably leaves them. She won’t say that it is more favourable under any circumstances, but it’s certainly a new experience. And she likes diversion, despite the obvious irony.
Ougi’s voice, sullied by layers and layers of crackling noises, breaks the monotonous silence. C.C. looks up, notices that he doesn’t, and approaches his chair, careful to make her heels produce as much sound as possible. She cannot see the expression on his face, but she imagines there is a frown, a small one, almost imperceptible in the darkened room.
Her voice seems to rouse him from the depth he has sunk to – wherever, whatever it is. He raises his gaze to the screen, silently gauging the situation as informed by curving green lines and blinking yellow dots. His fingers ghost over the control panel but not touch anything yet. Battle of wits, of communication beyond words and obvious actions. Only few can play the game, and something flickers in his eyes, as it always has when he faces this particular opponent, and she wonders if it’s love twisted into hate or hate twisted into love.
Whatever it is, she has to admit that she is rather grateful to that old man. Either is a sign of life – or at least something close enough, because Lelouch died the day Nunnally died, and Zero followed the day he killed Suzaku, and those tragedies – she cringes at the word – left something behind that was barely human.
“I guess it is,” he answers and she doesn’t know who he is, who Charles has salvaged, or perhaps, created. He gives the command and they listen to the roar of destruction in silence as barrels of sakuradite do their job. She doesn’t need to see the result, the blood, the torn limbs and stricken faces, to know who has won this round.
He waits, patience stretched beyond the field of time – and again she doesn’t know who this is – until Ougi reports back. Our win, he says with a voice that sounds flat instead of excited, and she can almost see the smile on his face. He leans forward and his hands fly over the keyboard, typing in a string of letters. C.C. has to crane her neck slightly to read the small black figures bunched together at the top of the white screen.
A smile curves her lips, though amusement is the last thing she feels at the moment. “Humor,” she murmurs, only loud enough to break the spell. “How unlike you, Zero.”
He says nothing, but a look of satisfaction passes across his face as he hits the send button.
Happy Father’s Day.
(Okay, not exactly Charles/Lelouch, but this is what the prompt brings me >_> vspirit, if you’re not satisfied with how it turns out you can request it again ^^;;)
(Gino/Suzaku, requested by rkold, prompt: wedding day’s jitters, 1507 words yep, it isn’t a drabble anymore, PG-13)
To rkold: You know that time when you said you wanted Gino to do Kira Yamato impersonation and whisked dear Suza-kun away from marrying the
“Zero asks for his hand in marriage.”
Gino stepped on the gas pedal and his engine roared through a glaring red light, almost running down an innocent pedestrian in process. He could already see the cathedral, its roof gleaming white under the morning sun. Just a little more. He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard and cursed loudly when he discovered that it was already fifteen minutes past the beginning of the ceremony.
He swore he was going to kill someone. Maybe Anya, for failing to let him know sooner. Or maybe him, for failing to let him know at all.
The massive iron gate was wide open and he sped through, into a vast courtyard packed with cars of various size and colour. Finding no room to maneuver inside further, the white Porsche skidded to a halt and Gino was already running across the field in less than two seconds. Guards were lined up in front of the cathedral’s entrance, but they quickly recognized him and parted to allow him entry, sparing him the seconds he otherwise had to waste to beat his way in. From inside of the cathedral, he could hear a mellow voice wafting out, “…and if there is no objection, I hereby…”
He paused his running at the doorway, breathing hard as every pair of eyes in the chamber flew to his direction. His gaze easily found Suzaku who was dressed in white and standing at the altar with Zero at his side. The look on the younger knight’s face, a mishmash of shock, astonishment, hope and, God forbid, fear, infused bitter strength into his tense muscles and Gino stomped his way down the alley, completely oblivious to the ranks of nobles filling the spaces between wooden pews, or to the Emperor who was watching the scene with what seemed to be a great interest from his elevated throne.
The bishop, on the other hand, looked like he was about to kill him. It was bad enough that he had to unite two men who either seemed to hate the breathing guts of his future husband, or for some reasons still wore a mask on his bloody wedding day. And now, interruption.
“If I may inquire, Sir,” the bishop asked with a strained voice, “what is the nature of your objection?”
Gino stopped at the base of the stairs leading to the altar, glaring at Suzaku who had gone very pale during the whole episode. “I love him,” he declared and his voice rang in the hallowed chamber clearly. He wouldn’t have doubts – not at this point. Not ever.
The stunned silence that followed his declaration was deafening. Gino kept his eyes fixed on Suzaku, taking in every shifting of muscles, every slight change of expression, every intake of breath. The younger knight, he noticed, was returning his gaze with the same single-minded intensity.
“I need to talk with Lord Weinberg,” he then said quietly, his eyes flickering toward Zero’s direction for a split of a second. “May we be excused for a moment?”
“Please make it quick,” the bishop murmured and Gino found himself being dragged away to a small room next to the altar, whatever it was normally used for. The door was slammed shut none-too-gently and he was pushed flat to the wall by a very irate Suzaku.
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, hands fisting the front of taller man’s shirt. “His Majesty is in there!”
“I don’t care if the entire world is in there!” Gino, ignorant to everything else but his own rage, snapped in return. “You’re asking if I’m out of my mind? What the hell are you doing marrying that terrorist??”
“It was part of the bargain,” Suzaku answered with a tight voice, obviously trying to keep his temper under control. Gino’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Part of the– but that’s insane! How can you marry someone that– you don’t even know his face!”
The short answer doused the fury in him, leaving the small flickers struggling for life. He started to feel dizzy as the implication of those words slowly sank in. Zero took off his mask in front of Suzaku. Took off his mask. Gino didn’t know what to make of that gesture and didn’t think that he ever wanted to.
“Is he handsome?” He let his head sway, leaning quietly against the wall. “Better than me?”
“That isn’t the point,” Suzaku snapped and the irritation in his voice, for some unfathomable reasons was making Gino almost hopeful. He looked up – and somewhere distant, in a place that felt like a few worlds away, his consciousness had been appreciating how stunning the younger knight looked in all those white with that sexily angry pissed-off look on his face, before he promptly stomped it to death – and heaved a deep breath.
“I love you.” It made his breath hitch, how easy those words fell from his mouth. And he caught Suzaku’s eyes, watching them widen in panic and trying not to show how hopes were hysterically dashing inside of him. “You know I love you,” he repeated, with more force, desperation, anything to alleviate that pain in his chest. “I love you, and I know you lo–“
“Tell me you don’t love me!”
His hands were clenched at his side and Suzaku was staring at him like he almost hated him. It made his stomach lurch. The silence sank in like a dead weight, crossed by the staccato beat of his breathing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You had a war to fight.” Impassive. Utterly without emotion – or bursting with them instead, he couldn’t tell. “And you’re supposed to be still in Egypt right now.”
Gino knew that he should be angry, should be throwing furniture and decimating things, but all he could manage was a quiet whisper. “Run away with me.”
He saw the shudder, saw it slowly destroying the composure Suzaku had carefully pieced together. “I can’t.”
Even his voice trembled slightly. Gino seized the chance and broke through the small fissure. “Why not? There are many places in this world where we can–“
“I can’t.” Suzaku was holding himself, arms tight across his stomach. “This is something I must do.”
“For Japan? How long do you plan to bear that burden?” Gino heard his own voice rising, heard every bit of frustration blended in it. He refused to understand – Japan, Zero, the king of the Elevens, and the chain of battles Britannia had lost. And Suzaku, always the son of Amaterasu, never, not even once, a Britannian.
They were unsurprisingly easy to understand. In fact, they made perfect sense, so much that he wanted to scream.
Gritting his teeth, he turned around and slammed his fist to the nearest pillar. It refused to budge and so he did it again. And again. And again, until Suzaku reached around and held his bruised fists between his fingers, arms winding tightly around his body, so tight that it would break bones of a frailer person. Gino felt the little tremors, and the soundless sobs breaking, muffled by his back. He felt the blood on his knuckles, and the hot tears soaking through his shirt, and thought that, for one spiteful moment, that he had won.
It dissolved quicker than a wisp of smoke, and what lay beneath was this immense hurt that choked him alive. He couldn’t bear to turn around, couldn’t bear to see the other knight like this. A puppet, a tool, a sacrifice.
“Does he love you?”
The thin laugh that escaped Suzaku’s lips pierced his heart like an icy lance. “What does it matter?”
You have no idea how much it does.
Gino whirled around and kissed him, crushing the smaller body against his chest. Suzaku was pushing him away, but Gino had him trapped in his arms good and it was only a matter of seconds before he was being kissed back, in a way that made him regret the time they had lost. He should have kissed Suzaku more often, should have said that he loved him until he was sick of hearing it himself, should have treasured what they had, not treating it like a toy he could pick up just about any time he wanted to.
He pulled the younger boy closer, until Suzaku was chanting his name against his mouth, until Gino could feel himself falling in love over and over again. He wanted to rip that white suit and made Suzaku his and only his and let the entire world know it, the Emperor and Britannia be damned.
“You love me,” he accused, feverishly kissing down cheeks streaked with salty tears. “You love me, damn it. You love me.”
Suzaku didn’t answer, but his lips caught Gino again and for probably the first time in his life, the Knight of Three found himself praying, begging, fervently and desperately.
I love him. I love him. Please don’t take him away from me.
And hoped that someone was listening.
(Please kill me. My Suzaku just refuses to be happy, so an open ending it is. Anyone is welcome to write a continuation to this if they want to because I honestly cannot >_>)
Edit: The lovely, talented
Edit#2: The equally lovely, equally talented
Edit#3: And then the wonderful ladyassassin27 writes an angsty ending! Click here to read!
Okay, that's the first batch of #1. The rest will be posted in a few days. If anyone else wants to request a drabble from me, please comment in here.